Oasis
by Paradigm of Writing
Summary: Even though time continued on ticking, and the seasons kept on changing, Lucas and Ness were still the same screwed individuals from long ago. Only together do they ever really find peace with each other, but on the same token it hurts. Their oasis, the paradise they live in... is a backwards nightmare. (For LegitElizabethWWEFan's Rated M Contest)


**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new one-shot called Oasis. This is for LegitElizabethWWEFan's Rated M contest that she started actually just today! I had an idea roaming around, basically how I wanted a successor or partly helpful partner fic with Fading since I mention Lucas and Ness in that one-shot. Both must be read to truly, fully understand and grasp the piece. Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

 _run, hide, retreat, surrender, then repeat. Do it all over again. ALL over again._

.

 _._

 **WINTER**

This is today. Tomorrow will be different.

Lucas tells himself this like a hymn. However, his old hymns really never made much sense. They were always fucked up and riddled with odd sayings that made people think he was screwed in the head. " _Hah... they're stupid_ ," he'd think to himself. " _I am already screwed up. Perhaps no one is looking hard enough..._ "

The apartment stinks of alcohol and Lucas guesses so does he, but he's too far gone in a brown black red sludge of liquor to care, slumped on a soiled couch. He has passed the age of orange juice + cheap vodka + ice cocktails in polystyrene cups and tinnitus music where drunks shout the words, slurred. Yet this pitiful state is like a raised glass— _hah_ , his metaphors are getting better—to Lucas' old world of contemporary American life, time spent in bars and homes and bunkers with tinfoil pipes and eccentric liberal friends, discussing Afghanistan and Iraq, politics gone sour, human rights and wrongs. It's thanks to one of those friends, Marth, that he has a place to stay, a ramshackle bungalow house in the middle of nowhere, meant for rest and hiding. Today he drinks alone. Almost alone.

Ness is watching him again, sober. That bastard was always sober. How he could stray from alcohol, Lucas has no idea. Not that he cared...

Fuck him. Lucas drinks some more because it feels good when you're already drunk, and realizes he isn't sure how they met. In a filth sludge of booze, he comes up with events—

 _1\. silence, the sort of silence that happens after a funeral, and Ness is begging for forgiveness and Lucas won't give him the satisfaction of letting the swell scar, 'cos Lucas is jealous of Ness and his little family and wife and infant kids prattling and drooling over their shitty insurance-bought clothes, shit shit shit_

 _2\. his fist colliding with teeth, cutting his knuckles but damn it is worth it you destroyed my life, fuck your wife, fuck your kids, doesn't matter if you make those fucking eyes at me, I don't care I don't care I don't care_

 _3\. but Ness begging to share a house with him, on his knees, on the floor, pulling at his pant leg and holy mother of god this is pathetic, you're pathetic, I'm pathetic for letting you run away with me like this, sitting in my jeep drying your nose on your sleeve._

 _4\. he's crying, this time he's crying. You wish to kiss him, for it seems that he has no idea what love even means. But there's much more behind the sobs, and Lucas hears them- he feels them and understands them. Sure, he's a fucking baby, that's definite. But... perhaps they need each other, maybe Lucas needs Ness more._

Burping, Lucas remembers that all four have happened. Ness moved in with him in his lil' bungalow universe, littered with empty bottles, bad takeaway food, shrivelled notes and empty bottles. Lucas drinks supermarket wine from jugs, keeping him warm and hazy, gums dyed like blood. The radio's been hijacked by some hermit and he's playing crackling blues on loop. Blind Willie Johnson. John Billie Hooker. Tom Waits.

It is winter and Lucas presses his face against the cool surface of the window, waiting for the light that never comes. Winter depression is merciless, especially on the spirited souls. White pallid snow covers the ground, kissing it lightly. Lucas closes his eyes, whilst remembering brief seconds when white didn't mean vomit riddled with vodka, nor when white meant the curtains of a hospital room, the white of unconsciousness.

Ness rests his head in his arms, hands shielding his face, eyes so dry, so fucking dry, because he coils everything up inside while Lucas throws up in the back garden, walks in, sprints out and throws up again, and comes back in. It's just another night. _Today_ has lasted for a long time. But it is how they cope, hoping to ride this depression out, letting it run its course. Every day is a lazy Sunday. Every day is torture.

Ness turns towards the half-wrapped presents in the kitchen (back during treacherous midday which lured him with the promise of energy, which **burst** like the rotten untouched fruit on the kitchen from boxes delivered on their door every Monday). He thinks about the wrapping paper rolls and shoeboxes without lids, waiting. He's only visited his family thrice, hospital visits rather than family time. Lucas watched him make the Christmas presents with such care, only to throw them away when he realized it wasn't what his boys would want. The boys want the dad who died back in the stadium. The dad who cared, the dad who tried, the dad who wished to live versus die in secrets.

Lucas pulls a beer out from the fridge. He lost count after the fourth. In his mind, he truly knows he's on his seventh. Desperate times call for really fucking desperate measures.

Lucas tries to remove the beer cap with his teeth.

"Stop," Ness tells him with a mix of exhaustion and (self) resentment. His friend is already stupid. A visit to the dentist wouldn't help the money jar, it's so bare that they can't even buy alcohol.

So Lucas removes it with his mind—too bad he's intoxicated and sloppy and the power granted from Master Hand makes the bottle **explode** in his already mangled hand. He doesn't scream. Just moves the hand upwards to his face, lazy. Crimson droplets splatter against the floor, stirring raucous screams inside his brain. Lucas blinks, inwardly screaming- but not from the shards of glass stabbing his skin. The memories. He wants them gone.

"Jesus," Ness says, too tired for a real reaction and walks over. "Really did it this time, didn't you?"

So it's up to Ness to fix him, to pull the shards out and add bandages. Ness can't imagine what's going on inside Lucas's head. He helps Lucas change out from his grandfather's clothes and go to bed, and he won't let go of his hand so he goes to sleep, too soon after Lucas lets slumber take hold. There was just one bed and after what they've gone through in the stadium, sleeping together is nothing. What comes after sleeping together is another story.

Ness is the strong one, the logical thinker, not a creative nutjob like Lucas. His head is filled with priorities like family (destroyed family, but a family nonetheless) and work (as if Ness actually had a job), free of the black soup of sadness that engulfed Lucas now and then in the up and down chart that is creativity, his drive, his purpose. With winter come spiders in his synapses, skating down brain tubes eating happiness, ideas, sex drive. Ness relies on logic and—

and—

Cracks.

(Lucas didn't believe that he was capable of that, at first, that he was staying with Ness out of a misplaced scene of pity.

...Till he found Ness clawing a patch of snow outside, making sounds like a dying dog. Blood in the snow. Or just strawberry jam, Lucas discovered once looking closer, following the footprints that led to the shed that functions as a freezer. Apparently Ness, it seemed to Lucas, that he'd gone out to retrieve a new glass of jam, fallen and lost the jar, then lost it, and... well, _lost it_. Lucas had to drag him back into the house to avoid any limbs getting frostbitten.)

While Ness is used to battling depression, Lucas is an infant. So he wraps it up tightly, unlike the presents. He uses the same technique as Ness—tomorrow all will be better—but refuses acknowledge his PTSD. Refuses to acknowledge his night terrors, his triggers, his thoughts. Function. That is his motto, pretending that next week, yes, next week he will go back to his family and all will be well. But, Lucas doesn't have a family, and Ness's seemed to slipping away from him. Fuck the motto. Lucas would just have to cope in some other twisted way that caused him to point fingers at everyone else but himself. His own fucking loathsome self that really was a monster. Black and scathing, foul and terrible. He loves his monster, he loves himself to the point of obsession.

Christmas passes without any presents being sent. Not one fucking card, not one picture. Nothing leaves the room. Lucas and Ness realize, quietly and silently that maybe, just maybe there might be something wrong with them.

All is not well.

.

.

 **SPRING**

Spring comes bawling, snow melting, nature rising up with a big shining smile on her Earth mouth. She forces the two of them to realize that time will not wait for them. Time will move even if they bolt the doors. With spring comes truth. With spring comes realization, and with realization comes action. The action will depend on the person, but it is time they move again and break the static stretch that hurts their bones.

No drugs. The rule is rather drastic, but Ness has crossed arms and a tight expression and Lucas knows better than to piss him off. Ness thinks of pseudo intellectuals passing ideas and bongs, and yes, maybe it is for the best. If Ness decided to ban beer and wine, Lucas may have ripped his friend apart telekinetically. One quick swipe there, an arm in the foyer... the head stuck on the ceiling fan. No biggie.

There is a war outside, the two of them know—but the outcome of the tournament doesn't concern them at the moment, because they have more than enough with themselves. Nana Mortmain and the kids have gone somewhere with full protection and new names and lots of cash, so Ness needn't feel bad.

He feels bad.

He calls Nana.

Lucas tries to hide behind doors and the distance found in beer and Marth's marihuana rolls that he swore were only for emergencies, but nothing can keep the breakup from shaking the whole bungalow universe. The floor croaks and cracks with each battle step Ness takes. He's sat the phone volume on full because he's unable to stand still, chewing his fingernails till they're mangled and bloodied, skittering around the room. It's a battlefield of scarlet skin and cries that burn Lucas's very soul. Ness and Nana are hushed behind a closed door

 _"You haven't been happy in months,"_ she says.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he says.

 _"I feel like a bird in a cage,"_ she says.

"Nothing I once loved makes me happy, you don't make me happy," he says.

 _"You need to go to the doctor,"_ she says.

"I feel like I got a demon in my head," he says.

 _"Why do you need me, anyway?"_ she says.

"I feel like I'm already dead," he says.

 _"You're selfish,"_ she says.

"Don't leave me," he says.

The conversation gets muffled after that. Quieter. He exits sometime later, shoulders so slumped it indicates that he lost the war. Truly: with spring comes truth. He makes that dying dog noise again—not truly a whine, more like a whimper. It's so pathetic Lucas goes over and gives him a hug, awkward and bony since they've both lost too much weight, flesh falling off and muscling fading. Just another part of moving on, so it seems.

And Lucas thinks: " _I am human._ "

Ness whines / whimpers / quietly _screams_ again and Lucas grips him tighter, thinking that if he doesn't a void will materialize and eat Ness whole. The man is twenty-eight, he's father of two, has been once called savior of madmen, and has been reduced to this. The power given to him by Master Hand has enchanted his senses and growls at the back of his mind, and he _feels_ suicidal thoughts ripple under his skin, threatening to tear Ness apart. Thoughts like eating the barrel of a shotgun. Slitting his wrists. Drinking himself to death in the tub and drown in the pitying wave of cheery and drunken crimson black. Hanging. Overdose. Starvation. Gassing.

Lucas has been there so many times staring into the bathroom mirror and seeing a face he doesn't know—so he gives Ness a little taste of destruction and kisses him. It's quaint and quiet, smelling cinnamon and lavender that douses over the senses. When Ness kisses back, it is more than just being sympathetic at this point. Lucas silently prays, although he surely isn't religious, that Ness could understand the kiss. Lucas could care less. He doesn't give a shit what it's supposed to mean because he hasn't been sober in months, but he knows Ness's thin branch hands grabbing at his shirt means approval and they move towards the bed.

A tangle of black hair and white bone leg like Auschwitz. Not that either of them took notice to that, of course.

This is not automatic. This is not pure desire. This is a way to blow sadness away for a second. A startled gasp as Ness is allowed orgasm; enough death to satisfy Lucas plants soggy sludge kisses all over him, anything to turn those whimper whines into something else. Flowers bloom in spring and so does attraction. Raven and blonde hair swirl together into a tornado of light and dark. Yep, Auschwitz all over again.

The next morning they shower together with the excuse of water bills. The shower is too small and Lucas presses Ness up in a corner and he breaks down, finally, thoughts spilling from him.

Lucas doesn't allow him in the tub by himself, too afraid of brown black red water and Ness's head under, eyes closed. Ness is his bathtub—deep deep deep, allowing Lucas to sink and sink and sink. He could use a little order. He could use a little Ness. Seems as if his thoughts in winter came back to haunt him. His thoughts liked to do that every once and a while.

He could use a little Ness.

.

.

 **SUMMER**

Ness takes up cooking. Sizzling onions, garlic meat and cooked green beans drowned in oil and salt. Quietly, he tells stories of his granny who taught him to make them just perfect. "Green beans are tricky," he says, focused on the task at hand. "Cook them too long and you get mush; too little and you get food that tastes like healthy marbles, but when you get them right, ah..." he trails off, and his mouth quirks.

Lucas listens, patiently. When it becomes clear that Ness is done talking, he takes out the trash. Food for birds. He thinks about them scattering it all over the world like a plague. Banana flies buzz in the orange light, in cascading sunlight, in darkening green light... and the sun's going down soon. After the meal they fuck on the porch, for simply the reasoning of why the fuck not. It is extremely uncomfortable and harsh, mosquitoes biting at their exposed flesh. Ness grimaces—he's never going to get used to the feeling of another man's cum between his thighs. He wishes silently to himself that he would get used to it, but alas nature isn't that way and won't spare Ness the expense.

The summer cannot chase away the demons, but it helps. It was as if pressure on your shoulder was released, only being held by a thumb. After all, seasons are only finite.

Lucas used to spend summers driving, in which his existence became—four letters and a purpose. Drive for four hours then stop for gas. Sleep in cheap motels and at the floors of poor writer buddies, woken in the middle of the night because someone's banging next door. City after city in his trusted jeep, invited to parties with strangers that buy him drinks because his name and column is in the magazines they read, and he gets nods of approval from the older kids backstage because he reminds them of themselves when they were young and fiery. Ignore the fucking phone calls from every other goddamn person on the planet, they don't care about him anymore so why should he. Marth and Ike seem to have their own troubles, he knows that much. But, he's got his own problems... problems he needs to fix. He meets ex soldiers that can't stand loud noises and smiles, sixteen year old alcoholics who are already pregnant and have had twelve abortions already, surrealist artists and a nihilist who shoots her brains in a public WC the day after he met her. No note. Lucas imagined her eyes surprised as skull and brain bits paint the wallpaper behind her a rich red. The last thing she said to him was a Ginsberg quote, but he was drunk and can't remember which and it bothers him to this day.

But right now he's holding Ness's hand in hot summer air and they're still listening to that same radio channel and that crazy shit hermit who thinks the black president is a conspiracy. Oh good god fuck that hermit and his babbling nonsense. Incoherent thoughts do not warp together and make magic. Ness is drinking (a first with the new summer light and heat), too, laughing (he hasn't laughed in months) and pointing out faults in the hermit's arguments. Lucas's relationship with the bottle has normalized to the point where a beer keeps him satisfied, but he's 100% sober today, preferring a cigarette. Rather tame adjustment, he'd say if he was asked.

He blows in.

Blows out.

"We should move," Ness says, sudden and a little slurred.

"Mmhm," Lucas agrees, but know it'll have to wait. Another puff. (But... would moving really solve anyone's problems?)

Another day where time stops and surprisingly, so does his breath. But, not in the way of a man dying. In the way of a man feeling somewhat... comforted. Yes, it is a good feeling. Unfortunately for Lucas, it only holds him for a brief while. Then it's gone, kissing him like a phantom till a sea of charred bones and ragged flesh is screaming in his ears to wake the fuck up. The world is pretty, even without him there.

.

 **AUTUMN**

Trees are losing their leaves and all that poetic bullshit, outside the apartment.

Everything is outside. Everything. Maybe even their two souls.

Ness gets in contact with his kids for the first time after the breakup but Lucas isn't imposing. Doesn't want to rush things. Apparently he's going to try to fly over there soon, somewhere in America, whichever place he chooses, but his hand tightens over Lucas as he says this. Lucas tightens back. So they hold hands and shower together and fuck a little more, with the same thought as before, but this time it is a little bit longer, longer than ever before. Lucas thinks about getting in the car and driving again, facing the future headfirst, but instead he ends up leaning on Ness, sighing deeply. Peace was just a fool's bargaining chip in order to save sanity. But, on the bed that smelled of washed away dreams and foul words, peace seemed feasible.

Screw talking. Lucas talks a lot, but not about this thing they have. He won't bring Ness flowers or chocolate. Won't pretend to be normal. He'll continue to be his fucked up self. What he can promise though, is a meager understanding of what Ness is feeling. He'll help to the best of his ability. Some days they still wake up and want to die—

But today is different.

"Let's go," Lucas says. "C'mon. I'm sorry. Let's just, let's just go. Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here, 'least."

"Yeah," Ness says, running a hand through his oily hair, breath stinking of green beans and mornings.

They exit the apartment.

And while they're heading home to wherever home is, the problems of tomorrow crash in, silently.

* * *

 **Well... this most certainly was out of my comfort zone. WOWZERS. I hope you enjoyed the piece, and I am so excited for the contest that I had to have it done by today, it's going to be great. This can tie with Fading for being one of my favorite/best works. Hopefully you somewhat understood what the hell it was about, and I'll see you all next time! Bye!**

 **~ Paradigm**


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